


so much down here

by captainofthegreenpeas



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Caring, F/F, Femslash, Light!Alma, Masoncoin, UST, flirtation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 17:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13839534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofthegreenpeas/pseuds/captainofthegreenpeas
Summary: Johanna craves fresh air; and serenades a president.





	so much down here

Stars.

  
The stars were here.

  
Johanna had not seen them for so long. Before now, she had seen only the dull grey expanse of the hospital ceiling. Before then, the bloody tiles of the Capitol’s finest cells. Even when she had looked upon the night sky in the Capitol from the windows of the Tribute Centre, Johanna had seen no stars. The garish lights of the city obscured them, the churned up clouds drowned them.

 

She thought she had seen them at night in the arena, but then midnight came, the forcefield broke open and the sun blazed through.

The stars were never there.

  
That made her angrier more anything and she raged against the shattering sky even as the Capitol’s claw closed around her.

 

But they were here now.   _They were waiting for me_ , she thought. Looking down silently on District 13’s overground, guarding the shells of houses and the pock marks of the last bombing. She was supposed to be below, in her bunker. The security around the uppermost level had been impressive, but Johanna knew how to evade before she knew how to read, so she had slipped out into the night comparatively easily. They would return her to hospital if they found her, forgoing punishment on the grounds that she was traumatised, but it would be worth it, for these stars.

 

The stars were the same as the ones of home, looking down on her all her days from her birth to the reaping. She remembered stalking through the common woodland of Seven as a little girl, while those same stars looked on. She was always sleepy in the morning at school (not that she was ever a morning person, nightly excursions or no nightly excursions) and several times she was so drowsy during woodwork class she barely escaped slicing a finger off. But in the days she was only Johanna Mason, one little scrawny nothing surrounded by scores of little scrawny nothings.

 

By night, however, with her mother’s old scarf of black velvet as her coat, she was a panther.

  
In the woods, she was powerful. She was still in danger but now, she was dangerous. If anyone tried to hurt her she would rip him apart with her claws and send him to the grave with her teeth. She dreamed that she stalked her prey, slowly and deftly, until she sprang for the attack. Her skill and speed was rewarded with meat: red, juicy, fresh meat. If she was victorious. She always was. Little scrawny nothings like Johanna Mason went hungry: panthers never did.

 

And never would. She had not been donned her pelt since the night before her reaping. When she transformed into a predator at the end of her Games, her prey was far too human. When she returned to Seven after her victory, the scarf was the last thing on her mind. The first thing on her mind were the predators of the Capitol, who lusted after Johanna’s flesh with feral intensity and waited only for the signal of their indulgent yet callous ringmaster to make a feast of her. She had bared her teeth in response, told Snow that if any of his beasts tried to mount her she would tear them limb from limb and mount their heads upon her wall, having given their necks a French kiss from her axe. The beasts had slunk off, tails between their legs, so the ringmaster had butchered her own pack.

 

When she did think to look for the black velvet scarf, it was long gone. Perhaps the murderers had it. Perhaps no one had it. Perhaps it was trampled and frozen and buried in the mud. Wherever it was, she was not a panther anymore. Not predator. Not prey. Not anything. They had tried to tame her. When she would not be domesticated, they broke her instead. They had pulled out her claws, blunted her teeth and shaved off her fur.

 

The ground was as rough and cold as she was, but lying on her back there was nothing blocking her view of the stars tonight. She stared at them unblinking until her eyes itched, then she stared at them some more. Each lungful of piny air made her feel that bit stronger, that bit surer. Made her feel something.

 

She heard footsteps, light but steady. One person, moving with confidence but without the urgency of a doctor alarmed to see her out of doors. Whoever it was, they weren’t in a hurry to drag her away inside, so she let them be.

 

“Do not feel obliged to get up.”

  
“I don’t.”

  
“It is the custom to feel so; out of deference to a President.”

  
“Oh. I’m not used to being polite to Presidents.”

  
“So I have heard.”

 

The tone of Coin’s voice did not give an aural clue as to the expression on her face, so Johanna’s curiosity turned her head to see for herself. The moonlight split the grey of the President into black and white, the balance of both shifting as she moved. Knowing full well that Johanna had no intention of getting up, she knelt on the ground beside her, sitting neatly on the sides of her feet, hands placed in flat symmetry on her knees. Alma Coin did everything with this level of neat precision. It was one of the many weird things Johanna had noticed about Thirteen since her fall down the rabbit hole.

 

“Here to enjoy the illicit thrill of fresh air?” The moment the words left her mouth Johanna realised she was flirting. Damn. The president, she knew, did not take kindly to anything she perceived as mockery. But Alma did not seem to hear the flirtatious tone of her words. If she did, she did not acknowledge it.

  
“Illicit? Fresh air is good for the health.”

  
“Yeah, that’s why everyone else in Thirteen is out here getting their fresh air.”

  
Alma ignored that.

  
“I’d make you a daisy chain,” Johanna thought aloud, picturing it wrapped around Alma’s immaculate head like a crown, “but there aren’t any daisies.”

  
“So?”

  
“So what?”

  
“So use your imagination.”

  
A grin spread across Johanna’s face like wildfire. For just one second, it almost sounded like the austere President was flirting back. The thought made her want to push her luck further, see just how much impertinence she could get away with.

  
“Nothing out here but grass and gravel. Not much I can do with that.”

  
“Weave some grass?”

  
“Not this grass. Too short. Oh!” Johanna plucked some pieces and worked them. “I shall serenade you, instead.” She blew between the gap her fingers had twisted.

  
Alma looked slightly alarmed at the squeaking symphony that resulted.

  
“Goodness.” She deadpanned, which Johanna had learned was Alma Coin-speak for “WTF.”

  
“Shall I show you how to do it?”

  
“Very well. Let it not be said that I am unwilling to learn.”

  
And so Johanna taught the President of District Thirteen, Light of the East, Defender of the Dispossessed People of District Twelve, Warden of the Stronghold, Shield of the Eastern Mountains, Guardian of the Free People of Thirteen and Commander-in-Chief of the Rebel Alliance for The Freedom of the District Peoples how to blow musical notes through pieces of grass.

  
Having discovered that she was unable to pull off the feat, the illustrious lady frowned.

  
“Is this a common practice, in District Seven?”

  
“Common enough.”

  
Alma made a noncommittal noise. “Intriguing.”

  
“You don’t have to be polite to me.”

  
“Excuse me?”

  
“You think it’s really weird and you can’t see the point of it. You can tell me. By all means make all the right noises in public, but when it’s just you and me… you can say whatever you like. I’m not easily offended.”

  
“It is considered courteous, to be polite to those whom you…” Like? Admire? Think about with increasing frequency? “…hold in high regard.”

  
“High regard?” Johanna’s grin got bigger. “Is that what you think of me?”

  
 _I don’t know what I think of you,_ Alma thought. At first, her only impression of Johanna was that she was a strange young woman, possibly unhinged. Yet Johanna’s impertinence did not irritate her as much as if she were anyone else: but not because she gave Johanna especial licence due to her circumstances. It was something about Johanna’s character that made her attitude more tolerable. It was a curious anomaly.

  
She would enjoy a chance meeting with Johanna Mason, a refreshing burst of mania, cynical sarcasm and shrewd observations.   
Once the girl stopped being impertinent, she was surprisingly helpful. There was an iron will beneath the barbs that only made her sweeter. Intelligence too, if unpolished and only casually deployed.

  
In the end, Alma opted to deflect. “Should I not hold you in high regard?”

  
Johanna thought it over. “Did I ever tell you about the times I killed people?”

  
“So you are serious about skipping the small talk.” Alma’s voice was calm but her heart was starting to beat faster. Old age, I am sure, she told herself. “Or is that small talk?”

  
“There are worse ways to break the ice.”

  
“I’m not terribly interested in the people you have killed,” Alma promised her. “They’re not important. They’re dead.”

  
“Of course they’re dead. I don’t do half measures.”

  
“I didn’t think you would.”

  
“You’ve been doing a lot of thinking about me.”

  
“In passing, perhaps I have. What’s it to you?” Alma sounded more defensive than she intended.

  
“A lot. A little. A little. A lot.” Johanna shrugged extravagantly. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. But then again, I’ve got to do something fun to pass the time when I have literally nothing to do.”

  
“Would you prefer some occupation? I’m certain some can be found for you.”

  
“Not until at least midday. I don’t understand how you and your district can function at ungodly hours of the morning. Even in the arena nobody was up at the kind of time.”

  
“If there is work to be done, sleeping in will not do it. Now,” Alma rose to leave. “It is best, having taken the air, for us to return to our respective quarters. You may wish to be useful tomorrow; and I must.”

  
“Yeah, what were you doing out here?”

  
“I was discreetly informed that you had left the confines of your quarters. I wished to make certain that you were not in a state of distress.”

  
“But you came yourself. You didn’t send anyone to do it for you.”

  
“Naturally.”

  
“You got up in the middle of the night…to check I was okay.”

  
“Indeed. It would seem you no longer require my services, so I would recommend we both go back inside.”

  
“Services?”

  
“As President of Thirteen, I must see to the welfare of my residents. That duty is not confined by hours of the day.”

  
Johanna stretched out and got up. “Okay. I’ll go back to bed.” She smirked impishly. “Do I get a bedtime story?”

  
“Ask Heavensbee.”

  
“Rather not, he’d only give me nightmares.”

  
“Either way, you need your sleep.”

 

“Why, am I needed in the morning?”

  
“Yes. I have plans for you.”

  
“Plans?”

“A clever girl like you can’t go to waste. There’s so much down here that needs fixing.”


End file.
